


Go Down Together

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mutilation, Mutual Non-Con, Pining, Unrequited, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: While traveling through Niflheim, Ignis gets caught stealing. Gladio chooses to be the one to punish him.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33
Collections: Fics from the Basement, Nonconathon 2020





	Go Down Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lagerstatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/gifts).



"See, your friend here dicked us over. Stole from us, too, most likely." The red-haired man's voice is clipped, a well-educated Niff accent. That doesn't mean he's smart, necessarily, but he's more likely to be able to pin Gladio and Ignis not just as Lucian but as from the Insomnian elite. If Ignis had just stuck to their plan and they'd simply traded some weapons for a night's shelter and then moved on, Gladio wouldn't be standing here now, scrambling to defuse the situation.

And Ignis wouldn't be tied up on the floor with his arms strapped together behind his back, palms to elbows. That very specific detail catches in Gladio's mind and makes him wary. Did they see Ignis use the armiger? Had he been that clumsy while he was poking around the disused base these men now occupied? If they suspect that they're Crownsguard or Kingsglaive... well. It won't be good.

On the plus side, Ignis hasn't been tortured, as far as Gladio can tell. Just beat up some. He's naked and lying bruised on the floor, curled on his side – his clothes are dumped over to the side, and the audio filers and papers he'd helped himself to are spread out across the desk by the door. Someone's taped a pair of headphones tightly to his head, and Gladio figures they'll be a pain to get off. Two men, one on each side, have their new guns trained on him, and Gladio's sorry now that he swapped them ammo as well.

If he could warp, he _might_ be able to move fast enough to take them out and keep Iggy from getting killed. Even then, the odds would suck. They have one single phoenix down in the armiger, but he and Ignis and Prompto agreed to save it for Noct's return if at all possible. Ignis would never forgive Gladio if he squandered it now, and lost the opportunity to save Noct in the future.

The way the red-haired man's thin, amused smirk grows suggests he knows exactly what thoughts and calculations are racing through Gladio's head.

"I'll give you the choice," he says, while Gladio's desperately trying to find the words to negotiate their way to freedom. "People who dick me over _get_ dicked over. Literally," he adds, and just in case Gladio misunderstood this bit of wordplay, makes a crude fucking gesture with his fingers. "By whoever's up for it, usually three or four of us. Not much else for entertainment out here."

Gladio can't hold in the anger that surges up: deep, animal, protective, the rage that his strength is rooted in.

The smirk cracks, and cruelty bleeds out. "But seeing as he's your subordinate, you can do him. Put him in his place. After all, he wasn't taking our stuff on your orders. Or was he?"

Gladio's pretty sure by now all of them are ex-military, probably mercenaries. The men with guns keep their faces expressionless and their stances professional. It makes his stomach sink; he honestly doesn't know how they're going to get out of this unscathed.

He figures he has nothing to lose by being honest, and he's willing to beg, for Ignis. "I told you we're just passing through, that's the truth, and I'll deal with him. But not this. Please."

The red-headed man shrugs. "He wouldn't learn shit if you took the punishment for him, and I feel like you'd go soft on him if we let this slide." He waves at the table. "Military secrets, man. Come on. So we'll discipline him for you." At the sneer in his tone, the implication that Gladio was a weak leader, a ripple went through the watching men. Anticipating their chance.

"No," Gladio snaps. "Fucking hell. He's been through enough."

The man gestures, and two of the men step forward from their position on the side. One raises his rifle to Gladio's chest, safety off. Not a threat, just a clear, simple statement.

The other crosses to Ignis, rolls him over, and crouches so his back blocks Gladio's view. Whatever he does makes Ignis cry out sharply, jerking against his restraints. The man shoves him back over on his side and ambled over to drop something into Redhead's outstretched hand.

Two bits of bloody flesh, and Gladio's still trying to process what they are when Redhead quirks an eyebrow at him. "Want one? They're tasty fresh. Good crunch in them."

He rolls his hand, so that it's clear they're Ignis' nipples, perfect flat brown nubs. Gladio gags at the thought of having them in his mouth _like that_ (so unlike all the fantasies he's harbored over the years).

Redhead shrugs and pops them in his mouth, chews loudly, and swallows.

His teeth are bloody when he speaks, and his words are soft, almost sing-song. "A man can lose a lot of bits before he's useless," he says. "Last chance to show us how you'd take care of a thieving subordinate who shamed you by violating hospitality."

Gladio's never fantasized about rape; if anything, he's drawn to the idea of being held down by someone stronger, slapped or spanked, manhandled. He's used to imagining Ignis in that role. Dominating him. Leaving the gloves on.

Even though he knows he's destroying the fantasy for all time, thinking about it will get him hard enough to do this, he hopes.

"Okay," he says, and undoes his belt. Leaves it hanging as he pops the button on his fly. He's grateful he's wearing cloth trousers and not leather; they'll be easy enough to pull back up afterward. He'll have to be careful not to let his ink show. He doesn't want any of them to know who he is.

He's so fucked up he almost asks Redhead for permission to cross the room and... do it, but he refuses to act like he isn't making a choice, or to pretend that this will be better for Iggy.

The metal floor under his boots rings, but the room's eerily silent. He prays to whatever bastard Astral will hear him that Ignis won't recognize him from his tread. When he gets to Ignis he grabs him around the waist and flips him onto his stomach, kicking his knees forward so his ass goes up. Ignis is strong enough that he could raise his mutilated chest up even without the use of his arms, but he doesn't. It's unnerving: he supposes Ignis might be concussed or drugged – which would be great, maybe he wouldn't remember any of this – but it feels more like he's just waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab Gladio right between the ribs. Dangerous.

Gladio plants one hand at the back of Ignis' shoulders and sucks the fingers of his left hand wet before shoving them in. He bets Redhead will figure this is a weakness, but Ignis thrashes, fighting the violation, making it worse for him, in the end. Gladio's pretty sure he ripped something getting the fourth finger in; blood mixes with the bubbles of spit on his fingers.

He tells himself it doesn't matter, and pulls his dick out. He presses up to Ignis' hole and just leans in, using his weight as an inexorable force. Ignis knows better than to talk around Niffs, because his accent's a curiosity, likely to get read as Accordian or Tenebraean, but his voice is stripped of his fine manners and good breeding when he says _Stop, please, don't_. The words are too loud, probably because he can't hear himself. Someone laughs.

Gladio will kill them all, when he's done.

Ignis' body resists him right to the end, when he's fully seated, his balls swinging obscenely between Ignis' thighs. There's no need to make nice, so Gladio rips back and then hammers forward; sex as an engineering problem, a construct of metaphors – thrust and pistons and leverage – that keep him from fixating on the six small moles that form a constellation across Ignis' lower back. He's stolen glimpses of them on the roadtrip, and surreptitiously searched for them in Prompto's pictures. In a different world, they'd be a gift to him, perhaps.

"Sit him up," Redhead instructs, cutting into Gladio's attempt to escape into his thoughts. "Show my men."

Clear as day Gladio hears the ghost of his father's voice saying _Set a good example for your sister_ , and it's nearly enough to make his dick wither right there. He hauls Ignis up by his shoulders, impaling him on his dick with his legs splayed wide. Ignis' face is pale and blotchy, his butchered chest is a bloodbath, and a glance down shows his dick's scraped up from rubbing against where the floor plates are soldered together. Gladio grabs it anyway, tugging and slapping until Ignis is fucking himself, raising up and lowering down like an automaton. Ignis' hands twist in their bonds, trying to loosen them enough that he can grab a weapon from the armiger without running it through his own back or lopping off his fingers. Gladio leans back from him, wary.

The men laugh at Ignis' predicament, and a murmur of crude comments and demands rises. Gladio's glad he can't hear, but he wonders how much Ignis can sense. Does he have any idea how many people are in the room, that there are guns trained on him? Can he remember where the door and his clothes are? Probably not.

Gladio's anger is starting to fray around the edges, as his body builds toward an ugly orgasm. From the scowl on Redhead's face he doesn't think Ignis deserves to come, which is fine by Gladio. He lets go of his dick, so it bounces limply as Ignis works. Gladio tries to imagine Ignis wanting this: eyes bright, mouth curling around a wicked smile and Gladio's name. A bed, and privacy, and Gladio whispering endearments until Ignis blushed. The fantasy's ragged and meager, barely enough to get him there. But he grits his teeth and fucks upward hard, grabbing Ignis and pulling him down as he comes in his ass. Gladio yanks himself free while he's still hard, making a mess all down Ignis' lower back. He's breathing hard and sweat-slick under his shirt, but he feels empty, which is better than having emotions. He's not ready for those yet.

He pulls his pants up as he stands, letting Ignis drop onto the floor. He raises an eyebrow at Redhead, daring him to say that wasn't good enough, and then goes to grab Ignis' clothes and boots.

"I'll have a couple people escort you outside," Redhead says. "You can untie and dress him there. Not that we don't trust you, but – "

"The hostility is mutual," Gladio says. 

He has to half-carry Ignis through the corridors, and he's not looking forward to what they're going to face out in the snow. He thinks about killing their escort, or grabbing some of Noct's bottled magic and filling the base with fire or lightning. But he knows Ignis is in no condition to fight, and the odds would be against them. Not to mention that if anyone survived, they'd be able to set off a continent-wide search for the dangerous Lucian infiltrators.

Better to creep off and lick their wounds, as much as that runs against counter to Gladio's every instinct.

Once the steel door is bolted behind them, he pulls out his boot knife and cuts Ignis' arms free. He slaps one of Ignis' hands over his face, running the fingers over his scars until the numbness wears off and Ignis lets out a shuddering breath.

"Gladio."

He nods against Ignis' hand, and then hands Ignis his clothes. He tries not to be pushy offering his help, but Ignis seems more interested in uncovering his ears than in not freezing his ass off. Gladio uses his knife to saw through both hair and tape until he can yank the headphones off. Ignis looks like shit when he's done, but at least he can say, "Come on, let's get the hell out of here" and Ignis can hear him.

"Did you see?" Ignis asks. The snow muffles sounds, but Gladio has never heard Ignis sound like this before, so distant that he might as well be on another star.

"Yeah," he says. "Let me do up your boots. We passed that shed about twenty minutes back, we can camp there."

"Are they watching us?" Ignis is looking all around, like he'd forgotten he was blind. "Did you... back there, I meant. Did you see what they did?"

He's leaning on Gladio while Gladio's tightening his laces, so Gladio shrugs, hopefully sharp enough Ignis knows he doesn't want to talk about it. "Yeah."

"Which one of them was it?"

There's Glacian cold in the words, never mind that Ignis' voice breaks and he sounds close to murder or tears – probably both.

"Red-headed guy," Gladio lies. He tugs Ignis toward him, putting his arm on his own as they turned toward the track through the snow. "Save your energy."

"Promise you won't tell anyone," Ignis says. He's limping, and shuffling his feet as if he can't raise them properly. When they get to shelter, Gladio's going to hit him with a curative, whether Ignis wants it or not. Ignis means _don't tell Noct_ , and of course Gladio won't, but he knows Noct would kick his ass if he didn't use the royal magic to help Ignis as much as possible.

They'll both have to live with their memories, but if neither of them says anything, then it'll be like nothing ever happened. He hopes no one ever finds out.

When they finally reach shelter – a farmer's shed, barely able to fit both of their sleeping bags on the floor even after tossing bags of fertilizer outside – Gladio checks Ignis over for injuries and then hits him with a couple of curatives. Ignis puts up with this blank-faced, but then has to drop his hands from exploring his shorn hair to run his fingers over the ragged, sunken scars where his nipples had been, to see for himself the reminder of this day, an incompleteness that will be with him until he dies. Visible, and shocking. He stumbles upright and makes for the door, barely managing a step outside before bending over and being violently ill. Gladio watches over him and keeps an eye on their surroundings, sword in hand, until he's done.

Even back inside and with his chest covered over by both shirt and jacket, Ignis can't stop shivering. Gladio tells him to get into his sleeping bag to warm up.

"Will you... would you mind lying next to me?" Ignis asks, face turned away, shoulders hunching in with shame. "Just until I fall asleep."

The thought makes nausea roil in Gladio, as well. "I can't," he says, the words coming out too sharply. He realized, while being forced to hurt Ignis, that his attraction and affection for him are definitely love, and he has to live now with the terror that he'll betray himself: he'll touch Ignis accidentally, and Ignis will realize that Gladio wasn't a helpless observer of his torture and humiliation, but was the one who chose to hurt him. He hates the idea of never touching Ignis again, and he knows Ignis is sure to take it the wrong way. But he _can't_. "You'll be fine," he promises, and feels his heart break more at the sharp look Ignis shoots him, betrayal mixed with bitter understanding.

"Of course I will," Ignis says. He turns his back on Gladio as he crouches to find his sleeping bag by touch, and then settles in, zipping it up to the top. He closes his eyes, and the rise and fall of his chest is deliberate, methodical, sleepless.

The silent minutes that pass are almost unbearably heavy. Gladio realizes he's crying, but only after the tears sliding down his cheeks fall to his collar, making it icy wet. He swipes them away in annoyance, but they don't abate, all the while he watches over Ignis.


End file.
